


Fake It 'Til You Make It

by ScrollingKingfisher



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Mild Gore, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrollingKingfisher/pseuds/ScrollingKingfisher
Summary: The Traveler doesn't know what in the hells he's doing.Thankfully, someone with a little more experience is here to help.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 176





	Fake It 'Til You Make It

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao so I saw this post, you know the one, https://scrollingkingfisher.tumblr.com/post/190722194767 and I thought yeah, you know what? The Traveler doesn't know what the fuck he's on about. Dude has no clue what he's doing. I bet poor Melora arrived to absolute carnage.
> 
> Set in 2x55- you know, the one where Caduceus accidentally dies.

The Wildmother feels it when her youngest Clay dies. 

It’s a tug, a moment of sharpness, and then a drifting of a soul cut loose. A familiar sensation. She is needed. She sighs and stands, turns from where she’s overseeing the events at her Menagerie, and warps the firmament to bring her closer to him. 

It’s a little sad to feel the line of his life severed, she thinks to herself as she travels, but it’s not entirely surprising. The group he is pursuing his fate with are chaotic at the best of times, throwing themselves into danger with hardly a thought for the fragility of their mortal bodies, and it won’t be the first or the last time they lose one of their own in a fight. It is lucky that they have another cleric. She hasn’t yet been close enough to sense the deity the tiefling follows- she has never had reason to look- but she trusts the brightness of their souls. They are good companions for her Clay. No doubt they will be trying to revive him. And if they don’t succeed, then she will welcome him with open arms, as she has for countless generations, and give him rest.

None of those generations of experience could have prepared her for the chaos that awaits her when she arrives in the caves under Assarius. 

Her Clay’s soul floats, untethered, in the centre of the chamber, a soft pink mote of light. His confusion from being displaced so suddenly from his body eases as he senses her presence and begins to drift towards her. 

That’s the only serene part of the scene before her. There isn’t an inch of the cavern that isn’t covered in the bloody aftermath of a drawn out fight. The walls are scorched. The fingers of the blast that had killed her Clay extend out past where she stands unseen, small burnt chunks of incubus scattered around like a child’s discarded toys. The scent of blood and the heavy ozone crackle of magic still hang on the air. Even for this group, this has been an extraordinarily violent encounter. 

Her gaze slides back to the edges of the blast zone where Caduceus’ body lies broken. As distanced as she is, she feels a small pang as she takes in the blistered and blackened skin, the half-shuttered eyes already clouding over in death. So easily extinguished.

As she had expected, the tiefling girl kneels at his side, hands fluttering over his body. Her soul is strong, bold and illuminating and unbreakable in its faith. She has a diamond in her grasp, Melora notes approvingly. Good. 

And off to the side, an Archfey (is he an Archfey? There’s something odd about him) is having what appears to be a small panic attack.

Melora blinks. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, what do I do, what do I  _ do- _ ” 

The Archfey looks up from where he had his face buried in his palms and startles at her presence. Then an expression of immense relief crosses his pointed features. “Oh thank the Pantheon!” He rises to his feet, green cloak sweeping out behind him, before he seems to pull himself together a little. “I mean, uh, thank you for coming. Your help will be greatly appreciated.”

Melora blinks again. It has been a long time since she’s been surprised by anything.

“Why are you here?” She asks in a voice of rustling leaves. Her dealings with the feywild have been limited, but as far as she knows, the fey are rarely seen on this plane, never mind trying to help at the site of a recent battle.

His expression twists in awkwardness. “A long story, I’m afraid. I met a group of adventurers some time ago, and I might have strangled one of them, but they opened a door through to the material plane and I…” He sighs and shoves his flowing red hair out of his face with one agitated hand. “Long story short, I’m new to this godhood business, and I could really use a hand.”

The Wildmother looks at the newborn god. She looks down at the cleric. She looks back at the god. Surely not. But yes, to her wonder she sees it now, the curious curl of faith and power between them. That certainly explains the oddness to him. But her curiosity tickles at her. She has never seen one of their own being born before- and he is right at the very beginnings of his power. 

The tiefling cleric speaks, her voice wobbling with emotion. “Traveler, tell the Wild Mother that Caduceus needs help!” She holds up the diamond, ready to cast. 

The Traveller. So that is his new name. He shuffles on his feet and scowls under her assessing gaze, seemingly embarrassed that even his cleric knows to call for the assistance of others. 

“You know what you’re doing, surely?” She asks him. “You’ve resurrected people before?”

He bristles. “Actually, I was hoping… I was hoping…” His grimace stretches and she holds up a hand with a sigh before it becomes too painful to witness.

“Of course. Do not be ashamed- I shall teach you.”

She ignores his quiet grumble. He is very young. Pride is not something he can afford.

She lets her senses wander over the rest of the cavern as she sinks down next to the body. She can see the rest of the party, now, gathered on the periphery. The human girl, her soul a ferocious tempered blue flame, standing over the body of a demonic minotaur, its heart clenched in her fist dripping black ichor down her arm. The other human’s soul burns as well, hot and bright like a wildfire, banked for now but ready to rear back up at any second. The aasimar stands close, skeletal black wings still spread wide and threatening from the fight, and the goblin-who-is-not-a-golbin is frozen, face and soul still pale with shock, crossbow still dangling from her grasp. 

And then there is the half-orc. His soul is not fire but water, swirling through him in agitation, beautiful even as the dark tentacle wrapped around him constricts possessively. He could be one of her own, if not for that, she thinks.

Hmmm. An interesting possibility for later. For now, she needs to help her Clay.

The Traveller leans back a little as she looms over him, her power saturating the cavern and leaving him a tiny speck in her shadow. She doesn’t break eye contact with him as he reaches out, takes the delicate soul in her palm, and cradles it close as the cleric chants.

“Like this. Let me show you.”

The diamond shatters, and a burst of power fills the space. She takes The Traveller’s hands in hers and shows him how to contain the energy through his cleric, mold it into a shape that fits the body, how to slip life back into the skull and under the ribs. With deft hands, she presses her Clay’s soul back into his flesh, leaving him a warm vision to reassure him of his path as she does. 

His heart beats. He breathes. 

The cleric lets out a sigh of relief and looks up. For half a second, Melora lets the veil fall, and smiles at her. Her relief turns to wonder, violet eyes widening.

The Traveller leans over his cleric’s shoulder as she gapes. 

“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs into her ear. She beams.

Melora watches them curiously as she fades back into the etherial plane. How unusual, to be so tied to a single follower.

She draws back as her Clay starts to snore. She has other things to attend to, now that the resurrection has been a success. The Traveller stands too, glancing up at her nervously. 

“Thank you for your… assistance. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to… maybe… instruct me a little?” 

She looks down at him. Glances back at the group who are hurrying towards her charge, all shouting as he starts to sit up. Their path will not be an easy one. Having another cleric would certainly help them to reach its natural conclusion. But if he doesn’t even know how to resurrect a mortal, how will he cope when his cleric’s power grows? She considers. 

“Very well. As long as you watch over them, I will teach you.”

The Traveller sags a little before pulling his shields back up. “Thank you.”

Melora nods, gathering herself as she lets herself flow back to the Menagerie.  _ What a mess,  _ she thinks to herself. A newborn god and a ragtag group of adventurers. This could either go very right, or horribly wrong. 

Either way, she’s sure it will be entertaining to watch.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My good friend River commented after reading this, 'omg this is why Jester thinks they're dating!" and you know what she's absolutely right XD


End file.
